A Mother's Conviction (Secrets Series Book 3)

by Karen Lenfestey

  “Who is your hero?” the man with the slicked back hair asked. Even though he was probably in his twenties, his hairline hinted at backward movement. His shoulders looked broad in his tailored black suit and she sensed a cockiness in him.

  It felt like a loaded question. Did she list a famous lawyer like Shapiro or be more honest and mention an intelligent woman who realized the importance of motherhood, like Jackie Kennedy? “My hero?”

  “Like my hero was Lance Armstrong, until the performance-enhancing drug scandal, of course. You have to admire how long he managed to keep that hidden from the public, though. He was an American hero, conquering cancer, winning the Tour de France, and running his own charity.”

  “That’s why I don’t have any heroes. Because people are human. They make mistakes and putting someone up on a pedestal just begs for them to eventually fall.”

  He didn’t smile as he wrote something down in his notes.

  After a knock on his door, his secretary meekly walked in. “Sorry to interrupt, but this woman called and said she needs to hire a lawyer by the end of this week. She was rear-ended in a car accident two years ago and her medical insurance benefits are about to run out. The problem is, she’s still receiving treatment.” She handed him a pink message slip.

  “How much damage to her vehicle?”

  “$2,100.”

  “Hmm. Not much. Lost wages?”

  The secretary shook her head. “She’s a stay-at-home mom.”

  He turned his attention back to Melodie. “Would you take this case?”

  Melodie shifted in her seat. “Well, I need to know more about her injuries and what kind of treatments she still needs.”

  “Ennnnh!” He made a sound like a buzzer on a game show. “Wrong answer. Without lost wages, it’s not worth my time to pursue this. If she made $75,000 a year and hasn’t been able to work for two years, may not ever be able to work again, now that’s interesting. But full-time mommies just don’t have much value.”

  Melodie’s spine stiffened and she exchanged a sympathetic look with the secretary. “Well, if she’s truly still in pain, the insurance company should pay.”

  He tossed the pink message slip in the trash as the secretary made a brisk exit.

  # # #

  As Willow took a bath that night, Beth put on her reading glasses and looked over the letter her little girl had written. Her letters slanted to the left and were a combination of printing and cursive.

  Dear Mom,

  I’m happy to here that your coming to see me soon. You can meet Beth, my foster mom. She’s rilly nice. We have a house with a playset in the bakyard. It has a swing, monkee bars and a rok wall. When you come, you can see that i can climb up it all by myself. Beth said we could get a cat or a dog, but it never seems to be the rite time. Miss you! Hurry up and come see me!

  XX OO

  Willow

  Something squeezed her chest as she thought about how she kept putting off getting a pet. She worried Willow wasn’t quite old enough to take care of it. But so what? Now she’d waited too long. Soon Willow would be gone.

  Would Gola get her a dog? Would Gola even remember to feed Willow—let alone a dog? Would Gola go back to drinking the first chance she got? If so, would Willow call Beth? She had to make sure Willow knew she was available 24/7.

  She folded the notebook paper and placed it in a stamped envelope. Gola was her mother. If she stayed sober, she could be a good mother to Willow. Beth had to believe that. She walked out into the cold, dark night and put the envelope in the mailbox.

  Once back inside, she went to the bathroom and saw the little girl out of the tub, wrapped in her Winnie the Pooh towel. She looked adorable and Beth’s heart cracked a little. “Willow, do you know our phone number?”

  “111 Brookside.” Her small frame shivered.

  “No, that’s our address.” Desperate to comfort her daughter, Beth rubbed the towel against the girl’s damp skin. “Do you know our phone number?”

  “Uh, 555 something.”

  “It’s 574-555-1819. It’s important that you memorize it.”

  “Why?”

  “It just is.”

  # # #

  When the phone rang after dinner a few nights later, Beth expected it to be her mother announcing her safe arrival at Aunt Hilda’s house or maybe Willow’s teacher checking in. Instead, it was an impersonal voice asking if she’d accept a call from the prison. “Uh, yes.”

  “This is Gola. I got Willow’s letter today and I wanna talk to her.”

  Beth thought she sounded a little snippy. Part of her still wanted to shield Willow from this woman. She forced herself to add warmth to her voice. “How did your parole hearing go?”

  “That’s why I’m calling. They’re gonna let me out and the first thing I wanna do is come see my baby.”

  The muscles in Beth’s shoulders clenched. She was going to lose Willow. “How soon is this going to happen?”

  “It can take a couple weeks for the paperwork to go through. I dunno exactly. Hey, are you gonna let me talk to my daughter or not?”

  “Sure.” Beth gripped the phone tightly against her chest as she walked toward Willow. She lowered her voice. “It’s your mom. Do you want to talk to her?”

  Willow’s blue eyes grew wide and she nodded. She took the receiver and placed it against her ear. “Hello?” A moment later, she sounded more like a three-year-old than a six-year-old. “Hi, Momma.” Sitting on the couch, she pulled her knees up to her chest while they talked. Mostly Willow nodded while Gola spoke and unfortunately, Beth couldn’t hear what the woman was saying.

  “Um, let me ask.” Willow removed the phone from her face. “How close do we live to Chicago?”

  “A couple of hours. Why?”

  “Mom said she’s never been there. She thought maybe when she comes to visit, we could go there.”

  Panic rushed through her veins. Did Gola want to take Willow to Chicago without her? Did Gola plan on taking Willow to live with her right away? Did she have the right? She was her birth mother, after all, and apparently, the state felt that she’d served her time. But Beth wasn’t ready to just hand over her foster child without knowing more. She reached out her hand. “Let me talk to her.”

  Willow handed the phone back to Beth. “Hi, Gola. It sounds like you want to do some sightseeing in Chicago. I’d be glad to show you around. Have you ever been to the top of the Sears Tower? Of course, they don’t call it that anymore.” Beth shook her head, feeling old.

  “Yeah, that sounds like fun. And I hear there’s a Ferris wheel at Navy Pier.”

  She glanced at Willow who was staring at her. Beth turned on the TV to distract her, then left the room. “So, what are the conditions of your parole? Do you have a job lined up? Do you have a place to live?”

  “Oh, I get it. You think you’re better than me. You think I should have to jump through all of these hoops before you’re gonna let me see my Willow. Well, she’s my kid. That’s all there is to it. I never signed away my parental rights or nothing.”

  “No, I understand. I’m just surprised at how quickly everything is happening.” Her throat grew dry. “I really care about Willow and I want what’s best for her.”

  “So do I.”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” She tried to channel the negotiator inside of her. After all, she’d spent many years handling customer complaints at the call center of Healthy Habits Vitamins and Herbs. “So we’re both on the same page. We care about Willow and want to help ease her transition.” She couldn’t even bring herself to say “back into your life” because she still couldn’t fathom handing this fragile little girl over to the woman who’d placed the scar on her cheek.

  “Yeah, ‘ease her transition.’ Whatever. I’ve got my cosmetology license here in Tennessee and that church lady who visits me is gonna help me find a place to live. Maybe even help me get a job. A niece or cousin of hers runs a hair salon, but she’s not excited about hiring an ex-con. So, I figure I
’ve got some time before I have to start punching a time clock. That’s why I wanna go to Chicago.”

  “Okay. I’ve been there a few times, so I can show you around.”

  “Sounds good. I gotta go, but I’ll see you in a few weeks. Tell Willow her momma’s coming for her.”

  # # #

  Even if that Lance Armstrong fan with the greased hair offered her a job, Melodie didn’t want to take it. That’s why she ran to the front door of her house when the bell rang. When she opened it, a fifty-something woman that looked like a Mary Kay representative stood on her doorstep. “You must be from the real estate office.”

  The woman with heavy make-up nodded. “I’m Cheryl.” She stepped onto the perfect stripes of the vacuumed carpet and a floral scented perfume wafted behind her. “I love your front door by the way. The red really pops.”

  “Thanks.” Melodie wondered if she should tell Conner about how he’d been right on the door color. Nah. “Let me show you around.”

  First, Beth led her into the living room, where the woman checked out the photos on the coffee table. Ironically, there wasn’t room to set a cup of coffee because there were so many wooden frames: her and Paul’s engagement photo, their wedding, a picture of their honeymoon in Hawaii, Zoe’s newborn, 3 month and 6 month photos, her first and second birthday parties, and the last family portrait they’d had taken, showing that their daughter got her blonde locks from her daddy.

  They slowly walked through the three bedrooms, bathrooms and kitchen, before descending the stairs into the cold basement.

  The agent made notes on a clipboard. “Oh, the basement’s unfinished. Too bad.” She looked at the cement walls and felt for moisture. Her nose crinkled at the musty smell. “Any water problems?”

  “No. My husband had intended to fix it up down here, he was good with his hands, but. . . .”

  “But what? If you could get him to do that, I could list this place for more.”

  “He’s. . . dead. That’s why I’m selling. I can’t run a farm. This property is too much for me. I just need a quick sale, so I can get an apartment or a little house.”

  “Oh, sorry. Let me assure you, you don’t want an apartment. With a house, you’re building equity. It doesn’t make sense to throw your money away on rent.”

  Melodie nodded. She just wanted some place where she felt like she was in control. A place she could afford, a place that didn’t need a set of instructions. A place without all of the memories of Paul. “I don’t know where I’ll go yet.”

  “I’d be glad to show you some places. I could handle the sale of this place and set you up in your next home.”

  Melodie shrugged. Her eye landed on her husband’s tool belt on a shelf. Her insides clamped so tight, she felt faint. If she moved houses, she’d be forced to go through his things. She’d have to decide what to keep and what to get rid of.

  “Are you all right?” the real estate lady asked, looking concerned.

  “Yes.” She could barely get the word out. The flowery perfume was making her sick. “How soon do you think this will sell?”

  “Hard to say. It isn’t exactly prime time for selling right now. But I’ll place some ads, put feelers out. See what I can do.” They climbed the stairs and once on the front porch, they talked numbers. After discussing the comps in the area, the woman shook Melodie’s hand. “It’s been nice meeting you. I’ve got some For Sale signs in the back of my car. I’ll put one in your yard right now if you’d like me to be your agent.”

  It wasn’t as if there were a lot of realtors who worked in this rural area. Melodie figured she liked her well enough. “Go ahead.”

  “One last thing. Hide all of those family photos.”

  # # #

  When Beth answered the phone, she recognized her mother’s warm voice. “Mom, I’m so glad you called.” She wanted to rush into her concerns about losing Willow, but she caught herself. “How’s my great aunt doing?”

  “Things are worse than I thought. Apparently she hasn’t been keeping up with her bills, so her phone has been cut off and apparently, the electricity was next. That’s why I’m calling you on my cell--” she cut out for a minute. “--so if you need--“

  “What? I keep losing you.”

  “Sorry, the reception isn’t very strong here. If you need me, call me on my cell.”

  “Got it. When will you be back?” Beth really wanted to have a face-to-face meeting with her mom. The truth was, she needed someone to give her a hug and tell her everything would be all right, even though she suspected it wouldn’t be.

  “Not for a month or so----takes a while to heal. That’s why I want you to promise me you’ll visit your father while I’m gone.”

  Rolling her eyes, Beth hated that her mother could guilt her like this. “Dad will be fine. He’s tough.”

  “But Willow is like his granddaughter. He deserves to see her.”

  “That’s what I need to talk to you about. Her mother’s getting out on parole and she wants to take Willow to live with her in Tennessee.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “So, what should I do? I’m not sure she’s a fit mother.”

  “Contact Willow’s case manager and find out what’s going to happen---so sorry---for you.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Gola is coming for a visit first and I told her I’m an expert on Chicago. I just couldn’t imagine letting her take Willow without me going along.”

  “This is why you should visit your father. He goes to Chicago all the time for his meetings with the Ministers of the Midwest. He could give you suggestions for where to park and what to do.”

  The muscles in the back of Beth’s neck felt so tight, she used one hand to squeeze them. She dreaded driving in Chicago. But she wasn’t sure talking to her dad would ease her anxiety. “I’ll think about it.”

  “When I get off the phone with you, I’m calling your father and telling him you’re bringing Willow over for supper.”

  Before she could say “No,” the line went dead.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Fingering the social worker’s card in her hand, Beth paced while she waited for someone to answer the phone. “Hello? Is this Candy Peters?”

  “I’m sorry Candy no longer works for family services. May I help you?”

  “This is Bethany Morris and I’m the foster mom for Willow Moon.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I received a phone call from her birth mother and she said she plans on getting paroled soon. When she does, she intends to take Willow to live with her.” Her heart beat faster just worrying about it. “I’m wondering if there’s some sort of procedure we need to follow. . . or if she can do that. . . or what.”

  “Just a minute and let me pull your case file.” The sound of someone setting down the phone, pulling open a drawer and shuffling papers came across the line. She picked up the receiver again. “Here it is. I see the mother is serving time for vehicular homicide while under the influence.”

  “Yes. So, my concern is that Willow not be exposed to an unhealthy environment. I’ve been told that the mother would drink and leave her children home alone for days. I mean, I get that she’s Willow’s biological mother and all, so I hope you don’t think I’m being selfish wanting to keep Willow with me.”

  “Bethany, is it? According to Candy’s notes, I see that you have been a stellar example of what a foster parent should be.”

  Beth blushed and couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks.”

  “I only wish we had more like you. We want Willow reunited with her mother as soon as possible, but only if her mother has a steady source of income and can provide a safe home.”

  This echoed what Beth’s mom had said, but it didn’t reassure her. “But will someone check up on Willow in a few weeks, in a few months to make sure that everything is still okay? When someone has a problem with alcohol or drugs, don’t they often relapse?” She was no expert, but she couldn’t bear it for Willow to go back to being neglected. Especially when B
eth would be more than willing to take care of her until she graduated from both high school and college.

  “Relapses do happen, but we try to be optimistic. Family reunification is usually for the best.”

  “Optimistic?!?” Beth couldn’t believe her ears.

  “Cautiously optimistic. Rest assured we won’t place a child with a parent who isn’t ready to provide for their child.” The sound of shuffling papers came over the line. “Wait a minute. It appears that parental rights were terminated while the mother was behind bars.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a federal law that terminates parental rights after their children are in foster care for fifteen months. It wasn’t initiated by Gola, so she can probably get Willow back.”

  She hadn’t realized that Gola’s rights had been terminated. She figured she had no choice but to provide only a temporary home for Willow. “But what if I adopt Willow?”

  The case worker’s voice took on a defensive edge. “Family reunification is still believed to be what’s in the best interest of the child. You’ve done your job, now let us do ours. If and when Willow returns home, I’m sure we’ll be able to place another child with you.”

  Beth shook her head. “I don’t want another child. All I care about is Willow.”

  That evening, Beth knocked on her parents’ front door. Beside her, Willow held her hand while dancing in place. When no one answered, Beth rang the bell. Maybe he wasn’t there. Maybe a parishioner had called him with an emergency. She felt her chest lighten as she anticipated her escape.

  But then her father turned on the porch light and opened the door. “Hello. I thought maybe you were the pizza delivery guy. As you know, your mother is the one who does most of the cooking around here. I’m lost without her.”

  Beth smiled with tight-lips, appreciating the fact that they both adored her mother. “Take off your shoes, Willow.”

  Her father ushered them into the foyer then closed the door. “No granddaughter of mine needs to remove her shoes.” He leaned down to Willow’s eye level. “I have a surprise for you in the freezer.”